


fairytale

by curiositykilled



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: “It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Shiro says, teasing.Rolling her eyes, Allura shakes her head and pulls her sweater closer over her chest Although the stage was always sweltering, the back of the theater is ever frosty. The cold creeps through the soles of her shoes and all her layers of warm-ups, chilling her. Shiro still wears sweatpants and his jacket, and fuzzy socks peek out over his running shoes.“And what kind of luck is it for spouses to get married three times in the same week?” she asks.
Relationships: Allura/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 14





	fairytale

The hallways are buzzing with crew and cast alike but Allura manages to slip through mostly unaccosted. After this many years, the familiar chaos is almost soothing — an assurance that everything is going exactly how it normally does. She pauses to flatten herself against the wall as a gaggle of small children are herded down the hall by a harried-looking Antok before she finally reaches Shiro’s door and ducks inside. He’s sitting at the counter with his back to the door, but he lifts his gaze at the sound of the door opening and turns around to smile at her as she walks over.

“It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Shiro says, teasing.

Rolling her eyes, Allura shakes her head and pulls her sweater closer over her chest Although the stage was always sweltering, the back of the theater is ever frosty. The cold creeps through the soles of her shoes and all her layers of warm-ups, chilling her. Shiro still wears sweatpants and his jacket, and fuzzy socks peek out over his running shoes.

“And what kind of luck is it for spouses to get married three times in the same week?” she asks.

“Well…” Shiro starts, standing and sliding his hands around her waist. “It depends on their reasons.”

Smiling despite herself, Allura loops her arms around his neck. Already, diamonds sparkle in his hair and at the corners of his eyes like tiny stars brought down to Earth. He hasn’t finished his makeup, though, and his lips are still free of lipstick.

“To entertain the masses in exchange for their money?” she offers, dry.

“No,” Shiro protests. “It’s for art, for romance and beauty.”

“Okay, Prince Bohemia,” she snorts.

He laughs and slips his hands under her sweater to rest against her leotard, warm through the thin fabric. She takes a step closer until they stand toe-to-toe.

“What, aren’t I supposed to be your prince charming?” he asks.

“What happened with my roguish pirate from last week?” she teases.

He leans close to press a tiny kiss to her mouth and pulls back.

“It seems the people prefer a fairytale,” he replies.

Sighing, she sags back in his arms.

“What a shame,” she says. “I prefer your old outfit.”

A blush rises in his cheeks, pink against his skin. The other costume was — well, a lot less fabric than the tunic and tights that make up this one. Thought Shiro had voiced some doubts about it, neither the audience nor Allura had shared them. If she had her way, he could stay in it all the time.

“You’re going to convince the costumers that we need it at home, aren’t you?” he groans.

“Ooh,” she says, grinning. “What a good idea.”

At his expression of dismay, she laughs and raises up on relevé to return his kiss. Consoled, he answers with pleasure and pulls her close until their bodies are pressed together. Her arms slide together and she lifts a hand to comb through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

They won’t get up to much this close to show time, but like the muted chaos outside the dressing room door, this, too, is comforting. All of it — the heat of his body, the mint bite of his chapstick, the smell of old sweat mixed with baby powder in the room — spells out home without need of language. Wherever they are in the world, whatever company they stay with or theatre they perform at, this is a constant. Where he goes she goes, and where she leads, he follows. Onstage and off, this dance is the same.

“Twenty minutes to curtain!” a familiar voice calls outside the door.

They part only barely. The space between them is a warm contrast to the rest of the concrete room beyond, and neither is eager to leave it. Releasing one hand, Shiro lifts it to adjust her tiara, straightening it from where it had slipped out of the bobby pins’ hold. His hand trails down her cheek, the backs of his fingers light where they brush over foundation and blush.

A finger hooks under the jewel-encrusted necklace laying over her collarbones and straightens that as well. It’s all an excuse, she knows: by the time she changes out of her warmups, a dresser will have resituated everything once more, and when they meet backstage they’ll surely give each other one last tiny once-over. Still, she’s not about to tell him to stop touching her.

Behind her, the door opens.

“I swear, if you two are getting lipstick all over each other again—”

Allura laughs, pulling away from Shiro to turn towards Romelle. The blonde’s ponytail is already slipping loose, no doubt from the number of times she’s combed her hand back through it in distress.

“That was one time, Romelle,” Allura protests.

“One time too many,” Romelle retorts. “Now come on, you don’t make much of an Aurora in all those pajamas.”

Snorting, Allura lets herself be pulled away to her own dressing room. As she goes, Shiro blows a kiss and she mimes catching it close to her heart before the door swings shut and she’s swept along through the busy hallway. They’ll see each other soon enough, when their fairytale begins.


End file.
